


Writing Prompts

by p_itch



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Apocalypse, Conspiracy Debunker, Conspiracy Theories, Death, Drabble, F/F, F/M, Government Conspiracy, Horror, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Multi, Multiverse, OCs - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Songfic, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-27 14:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8405203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_itch/pseuds/p_itch
Summary: A collection of one-shot stories (unless stated otherwise) based off of prompts from here: writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com Very good work in there, in my humble opinion. I enjoy writing things based off of their prompts.These do not correlate to each other unless there is a "Pt. 2" in the title. If they do correlate, the chapter will be named the same as the one it is a continuation of.





	1. Ninety Five (Pt. 1 of ?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hwright](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hwright), [Restless_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Restless_Queen/gifts).



**Day: 0**

It happened so quickly. Overnight. It was overnight. My family had dropped dead. They were dead in their beds, looking like they're still asleep, still peaceful. But they were cold.

I had to bury my little sister. She was only six years old. I put my parents on either side of her in their own separate graves, all three of them at the base of the oak tree in our backyard. I think I did that subconsciously or something. To mimic a picture I took of them at the park, that's placed on the mantle above the fireplace.

So I just sat in the house all day, ignoring my body and the hunger pangs I felt, ignoring the sleepy feeling that made my eyelids droop. I ignored it all day, until I fell asleep in time with the sun. I woke up in pitch blackness, and turned on the computer only to see it was nearly four in the morning. I couldn't sleep after that.

  
**Day: 1**

I didn't really know what to do, today. I felt lost. The day before still felt like a dream. It still feels fake, like it didn't really happen. But I know better. My phone had died, so I didn't know what else to do.

So, I went outside today. I didn't realize it before when I had to...bury them, but it's silent out here. Not a single car. And that's not to say just in our neighborhood, which is usually normal. I couldn't even hear any from the nearby highway. No horns, no sirens, no overly loud engines in dire need of a fix. Just silence. Some dogs every now and then, and birds of course.

But other than that, silence. I took a walk around the neighborhood. I stopped by my neighbor's house, knocking on the door and waiting patiently. His car was in the driveway, so I assumed he'd answer.

He didn't. So...I broke in. His German Shepherd dog looked at me as I walked into the kitchen, with big, sad eyes. I heard his television in the living room, blaring some rerun of a silly comedy show. His dog followed me, tail between his legs.

I looked into the living room, and my skin went cold. He looked asleep, in his chair. Head tilted to one side, eyes closed, face peaceful. His skin looked pale, and was cold.

I buried him under his beautiful cherry blossom tree he had been growing in his backyard. And I had to go home, the dog following me quietly, as if hoping I wouldn't see him. I laid down on my couch, face blank. The dog jumped on the couch next to me, and I spent the rest of the day holding him, burying my face in his warm fur.

  
**Day: 2**

I checked the dog's collar today. The thought hit me as I was mechanically pouring myself some cereal, and I heard a little whimper come from beside me. I knelt down, pouring him some of the dry pieces of cereal on the floor from my hand while I checked his collar.

The old man had named his dog Banjo. I smiled a little, and pat his head.

I also spoke for the first time in two days. "Good boy, Banjo," I whispered. His ears perked up at that, as he licked the crumbs of my cereal off his lips. I decided I'd have to go back into the old man's house to get some dog food for him, and a leash.

So, I went back. The heater kicked on automatically after I was rummaging around for five minutes, startling me a little. I felt lonely, even with Banjo by my side. He didn't seem to need the leash, if I was honest. He stayed by my side without me commanding him.

I carried two big bags of dog food back to my house, half dropping and half setting them down on the floor. I left the leash back in the old man's house.

Time seemed to pass slowly, so at around eight in the morning, I began going to other people's houses. I knocked on the first door, and got no answer, so I kicked the door in. It took me three tries, the first two I just bounced off, my foot and leg tingling.

When I went inside, I was expecting something. I was already tense, waiting to see something horrible like when I found Banjo. What I did see made me stumble back, gagging. I tasted bile, and suddenly my cereal I had that morning was being thrown out of my body and onto the hardwood floors.

I made four more graves. One of them was slightly smaller. The fourth one was too small.

Far too small.

  
**Day: 3**

I broke into more houses today, Banjo at my side. He was my anchor, something to cling to amidst all of this madness. It became a system. I broke into four houses today, finishing off my cul-de-sac. My body aches. I dug ten more graves today.

My gut tells me I have many more to go.

My hands have blisters on them, and I can't find my gloves. I've peppered my hands in bandaids, but I had to go into Banjo's original house to get them. All my house had left were pink bandaids, with different shades of flowers littered over the surface.

For the past four nights, dinner has been the same bland, cold soup with crackers. I still have power, surprisingly. I've begun to sleep with the lights on, lying on the couch with Banjo either at my feet, sleeping below me on the floor, or right next to me, so I can bury my face into his fur.

  
**Day: 4**

I couldn't bring myself to grab my shovel, and go outside again. Not only did my hands ache, and sting every time I moved them, but I just don't think I can do it anymore. I don't think I can go out, and bury...

There were children. Younger than my sister.

It's so hard to keep going. But I've been forcing myself to, anyways. But the digging...it's physically draining, yeah. I've fallen asleep before I even begin to fall onto the couch. But it's getting to me. I see their faces when I close my eyes. I see all eighteen of them, three more prominent and haunting than the others.

So today, I went to Banjo's original house, and broke the lock to the alcohol cabinet. I got drunk that night, Banjo curling up by my feet as I fell to the floor, leaning on the cabinets. My head spun, and the heater kicking on made me jump.

I finished off one more bottle, the taste bitter and quite frankly, disgusting. I passed out, though...without seeing any of their faces this time.

  
**Day: 5**

The horrible hangover I had made it easy to try and distract myself. I went out again, this time donned in the old man's gloves, with my own hat and sunglasses on my head. My head hurt, and the bright early morning light didn't help.

I started in on the cul-de-sac next to mine, swallowing my bile and replacing it with sorrow, and determination.

I managed to bury six more people by the time the sun was overhead. I was thankful for the hat I was wearing. I made my way back to my home, drenched in sweat and strangely looking forward to the cold broth that I would prepare.

Banjo had taken to eating from a plate next to where I sat at the kitchen table, and it was nice to have company. I'd reach down and feed him a cracker every now and then, patting his head and rubbing his ears.

I was able to charge my phone. I stared at the screen for a while, before opening the voicemails. I had three. One from the house phone, one from my mother, and one from my father.

I turned off my phone, placing it face-down on the counter. I was starting to shake, and stood, heading to the couch. Banjo followed me loyally, jumping up to sit next to me as soon as I sat down. I buried my face in my hands, forcing myself to try and take deep, steadying breaths.

Needless to say, it didn't work. I broke. I shattered. I felt empty and hollow and lonely, and alone. It hurt, to stay in this house. But it hurt to leave. It hurt to breathe, my chest felt tight and my eyes prickled and burned. I couldn't stand, I couldn't move, I could only sit there and sob uncontrollably.

All the feelings I had buried away underneath a routine came flooding out. All of their faces floated in my mind, twenty four people's faces in my mind, haunting me with their too-peaceful expressions, the memories of their cold skin as I moved them to their graves.

The horrible hangover I had didn't do anything to help, each hiccup, each sob made my head pound until I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things, break things, scream at someone, anyone.

And I wanted _someone_ to reply.

  
**Day: 6**

I don't even remember falling asleep. I remember the sunlight hitting my face, forcing me awake. Banjo licked at my hand, so I sat up, rubbing his head. I stood, making my way to the kitchen. The same breakfast for me and Banjo, though more subdued.

After I ate, I stood and headed to the door, but paused. I stood in the hallway for a long time, before I made up my mind. I grabbed the shovel and gloves, donning the latter as I headed out.

I got to work. I finished three more houses by noon, and fed Banjo, skipping my own lunch. By the time it started getting dark, I finished a whole cul-de-sac.

Forty-two faces. They served as a reminder, now. They didn't haunt me anymore.

  
**Day: 7**

All I did was work today. I left Banjo at my house, with plenty of food and water. I finished another cul-de-sac today. I thought of every single face throughout my work, remembering each one, vowing not to forget them.

I got home after dark had descended, the streetlights still flickering on as I made my way back. Banjo greeted me enthusiastically, licking my hands as soon as the gloves were discarded, bumping against my legs.

I felt grimy. I was caked in sweat and dirt, and even some bile, from seven days worth of work. I went to the bathroom, stripping from my dirty, gross clothes, and hopped into the shower without a second thought.

The small things. I had forgotten how showers felt, in the small amount of time I haven't taken one. But it felt like forever ago since this happened. A little over a week ago, I had read my sister to sleep with her favorite book...

I shook those thoughts off, taking a deep breath. Robotically, I began to clean my body. I scrubbed my skin, lathered my hair in shampoo and rinsing only to lather it again with conditioner, and then just basked in the steaming shower.

After I turned off the water, I instantly wanted to get back in and just stay there. But I knew I couldn't. I had to eat, feed Banjo, and then sleep. I began drying myself off, until something in the mirror caught my eye. I stepped closer, curious and confused.

There was a mark on my neck. It almost looked like a brand. I reached up to touch it, but it felt smooth under my fingertips. I frowned at it, poking and prodding at it for a bit longer before letting out a sigh. I pulled my towel taut around my body, heading back up to my room to get dressed in clean, fresh clothes.

I forgot about it not even an hour later.

  
**Day: 8**

It's the same thing, every single day. I needed to finish this. The neighborhood, my neighborhood, I needed to bury them. So I continued. After my first few attempts at leaving the house, I finally decided to let Banjo join me.

He helped detect people I wouldn't have. I've put to rest so many people. I lost count after fifty. But I remember their faces, in a jumbled mess that follows me in wake, in and in my dreams.

  
**Day: 9**

The routine was becoming ritual. I would get up, eat, feed Banjo. Put on my gloves, get my shovel, and go with Banjo to the next house. I suspect I've put to rest at least seventy-five people by now, and it was sort of theraputic. I felt good about helping them. Nobody else would.

Though, as time went by, the ones I haven't gotten to yet got smellier and smellier. By now, I didn't even need Banjo's help in finding people. It was methodical. My body moved on autopilot.

I finished another cul-de-sac. Then I realized, there was only one left. And this one only had three houses, the very end of the neighborhood. I looked up at the sky. It was only a little after midday.

I went home anyways.

  
**Day: 10**

It was harder to get up today. I think it's because I knew my ritual was about to end today. I swallowed thickly, standing from my bed on the couch. Banjo jumped to his feet, ready to follow me...well, anywhere, I suspect.

Surprisingly, I haven't found any other animals in any of the houses I went inside. Banjo was the only person that I found.

I ate. I fed Banjo. And I pulled on the gloves, picking up the shovel. I hesitated with my hand above the doorknob, before shaking my head and pulling the door open. I began my trek to the final three houses, a grim expression on my face.

The door to the first house I went to was unlocked. I pushed it open, peering inside. The scent hit me like a tidal wave, unmistakable.

Three more bodies.

The next house, opposite the one I just went inside, was locked. The door was sturdy, too, I found. My foot would definitely be bruised, now. So, after some hesitation, I smashed the window with the shovel. I climbed inside, swearing when I nicked my leg. Banjo had to wait outside until I unlocked the door and let him in, so he just sat there, waiting. He bolted for the door when he heard it unlock.

I patted his head, then continued inside the house. The bottom floor didn't smell of anything, but Banjo made a beeline for the stairs heading to the second floor. I walked up the stairs, where he was sitting in front of a decorated door, with a sign in big bold letters reading "KEEP OUT".

I went inside, wincing at the stench that came from within. There was a young boy, maybe eight or nine, lying half-off his bed. And a teenage girl, probably the babysitter. It was a shame. The boy and the girl couldn't be buried with their families. I took the boy downstairs first, heading to the backyard to find a spot to bury him.

I found a spot under a swingset, and I used the shovel to chop off a few rungs of a ladder to create a makeshift cross for his grave. It took a while, this one more somber than the others.

I put the teenager underneath some rose bushes, carving a star and a cross into the thickest part of the bush I could find, and hanging the rosary that was around her neck on the branches above her grave.

The final house, at the very end of the neighborhood. It was challenging to move towards it. I began to dread what I was going to find. The feelings I thought I had resolved four days ago began bubbling back up. I bit down hard on my lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

Banjo whined, nuzzling my leg. I had forgotten about the cut on my leg, but now that he drew attention to it, I could feel it stinging with each step, a cold lance of pain. I hissed through my teeth, and attempted to rip a piece of my shirt off to use as a makeshift bandage. It took at least four tries before I finally got off a piece that would be worthwhile, tying it around the bleeding cut.

And then I stood, patting his head again. I nodded to the dog, then began my way towards the last house.

The doors were unlocked.

The house was empty.

  
**Day: 11**

It started to storm, today. Thunder and lightning, the whole shebang. The wind was horrible to listen to, and it was impossible to go outside. I would have been knocked on my ass in three seconds flat.

Banjo tensed up at every crack of lightning, every roll of thunder. Neither of us got any sleep that night.

  
**Day: 12**

Trees fell in my yard. It would take forever to clear it out. I don't think I can, either. There's still poison ivy covering one tree. Banjo tried to go sniff it, I had to grab his collar and forcefully hold him back.

I tried to clear as much as I could, picking up broken off branches and sticks. I ended up with a massive pile, which I didn't really know what to do with. I just left them in the middle of my backyard, while a fallen pair of trees dominated my frontyard.

I played tug-of-war with Banjo, though. I found one sturdy, bendy stick that we could pull and it wouldn't break.

We tired ourselves out by the time night began to fall. So, I went back inside, Banjo by my side, and we slept on the couch until morning.

  
**Day: 13**

When day did come, I had to come to a conclusion. My family was gone, and they were not coming back. And I had to leave. I couldn't stay here anymore. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't maintain it anymore. Things would get overgrown and I can't take care of an entire neighborhood.

I did enough, I think. I buried them all. I made sure to check everywhere I could, I made sure I didn't miss anyone.

But now that I'm finished, I have nothing more to do here. The longer I stay, the worse I feel. Guilt, mostly. Wondering why I lived, when my family didn't? Needless to say, it hurt. I haven't gone upstairs since it happened, nowhere near my sister's bedroom door or my parent's bedroom door.

And I still can't bring myself to it. To leaving. But I have to, soon.

The rest of the day, I play with Banjo. Wrestling, tug-of-war, fetch...and then we fall asleep together, on the couch, as always.

  
**Day: 14**

I decided to start packing today. I got out my backpack, and began packing in clothes and things like that. I debated on many different shirts, before deciding to take all of my shirts with prints on them, along with some plaid and flat colored shirts. Some jeans, shorts, socks, changes of underwear...

Even a scarf and a pair of gloves, two beanies and a hat. I also found a pair of shoes to add in, as well. And the way I had packed, rolling everything up and tucking it inside my backpack tightly, it was only half-full.

Some cans of food, whatever dog food I had left, they also went in there. It was heavy, but I needed it to be.

After a moment's hesitation, I took my dad's gun, and our sturdy aluminum baseball bat we used to play with.

I also put on my little sister's favorite necklace. If I was leaving...I wanted to have something. It was a gold colored chain, with a painted rainbow charm connecting to two white rhinestone clouds on either end.

It may be girly, but it was her favorite. I put my parent's wedding rings, that they had left on their nightstands, on the necklace as well.

I sat on the couch and tied my shoes, glancing at Banjo. It occured to me I'd need some utensils. So I added a spoon, butterknife, normal knife, and a fork into my backpack, in a separate section. I got out one of our pans as well, cast iron. It was heavy, but I could cook over a fire with it. And with it, I added a multitude of potholders. And then some bath towels and hand towels, along with two washclothes.

My backpack was getting full, and heavy. I left it on the couch, going out to the backyard. The sun was beginning to set. I spent a long time debating and packing my backpack.

Oak leaves scattered the yard. Three crosses were hammered into the ground at the base of the oak tree. Two larger ones, on either side of a small one. I paused at the door, staring at it.

I hadn't come out here nearly two weeks. I started to make my way over, chewing my lip as I go, leaves crunching beneath my feet. Banjo bolts out of the house and slows down when he reaches my side, and I startle slightly.

I pat his head and continue, stopping in front of the graves. I feel guilty again, wondering why I lived and they didn't. And then anger, why whatever happened, happened to me, why I had to bury my own parents, my own sister. And I feel sorrow.

It's well into night by the time I go back inside. I decided to leave tomorrow.

  
**Day: 15**

I had my phone and charger in my pocket. Power still seemed to work, despite everything. I don't know why, but I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

My backpack on my back, of course. Baseball bat slid into my belt loop, gun hidden under my jacket in its holster.

The door slammed shut behind me, Banjo trotting by my side as I left the house...my home behind. I walked along he sidewalk leading to my driveway, then up the driveway, and then into the cul-de-sac.

I made my way to the end of the cul-de-sac, before stopping and glancing behind me once again, at what I was leaving behind.

Red oak leaves drifted down from the tall tree. It gave me a sense of structure, looking at that tree. The natural headstone for my lost family. I nodded to myself, staring for one last time. For the last time.

I walked, Banjo by my side, tongue lolling out as he trotted along. I walked out of my cul-de-sac. Out of my neighborhood.

Out of my city.

I didn't know, and I still don't know where I'm going. I guess I'll figure it out when I get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt I used:  
> http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/152360033871/over-night-90-of-the-worlds-population-has 
> 
> I edited it, so instead of 90%, I made it 95% because DEATH AND DESTRUCTION. 
> 
> writing-prompt-s is a very good tumblr user, I recommend. Especially if you have a hard time thinking of what to write. 
> 
> Also, my friend dubbed this guy "Undertaker". So if you want to refer to him, I suppose you can use that!


	2. Clairvoyance (Pt. 1 of ?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your girlfriend is a member of a shadowy organization bent on ruling the world, your best friend is a CIA Operative, and your dog is an escaped experiment who talks when no one is looking. And you? You run a website debunking conspiracy theories."
> 
> I didn't do the talking dog. I DID do something else, though. 
> 
> A gift for my friend, who wanted this prompt written out. *Throws glitter*

Fingers crack, keyboard keys click. A pause, a noisy slurp from a near-empty mug. The room was dark, save for vague early morning light (or street lamps, either or) coming through a window, and for a computer monitor and keyboard, resting atop a heavy wooden desk.

The desk itself is dark in color, with pale rings where a mug was resting too long without a coaster. It was littered in manila folders, papers and notes sticking out from inside of them. There were pens and pencils on the desk as well, but the computer itself was underneath. It was a massive beast of a tower, used sometimes as a footrest when the user didn’t want her feet to rest on the soft carpet.

The monitor wasn’t a monitor, but rather a TV reused for that purpose. It wasn’t that she didn’t watch television, but her girlfriend had gotten her a new one, using sources she said were _secret_ (and then she had winked).

And the glowing keyboard was a gift, from her best friend. She knew he was some sort of officer, because when he _did_ visit she had seen his gun more than once, no matter how well-hidden it was. He also nearly always wore a suit, and always looked sharp.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at her computer screen with slightly tired eyes, tawny skin with dark freckles splayed across the nose and along the cheekbones, cast in a white glow, rereading her debunk of the most recent (and quite frankly, _stupid_ ) conspiracy theory. Her mind began to wander to those thoughts of meeting her girlfriend and, subsequently, her best friend. How Alexi came to meet her lovely, amazing girlfriend, and became besties with someone in some form of law enforcement, was a bit...strange. 

\- - - - - - - -

She was just getting some cheap coffee from a cheap place (which was kind of traitorous, considering her part-time job at a _vintage_ coffee shop), wearing black sweats and a faded cyan pullover hoodie, unbrushed, short (some people would call it _boyish_ hair) purplish blue hair pushed up into a black, gray, and white striped beanie, also covered with her hood.

And suddenly, a random (hot) chick with wavy, messy-styled strawberry colored hair that’s shaved on one side (there were even patterns carefully shaved into one side) and swept over one shoulder, flawless (and beautiful) makeup just _barrelled_ into her. The coffee spilled everywhere, but Alexi managed to move just enough so only a few drops got onto her favorite hoodie. Alexi immediately looked at the woman who had knocked her cheap ass coffee everywhere, getting a better look.

She was wearing shorts that went up to her belly button, the edges of the pant legs frayed. She had on a gray and white sweater, that showed a strip of her fair-skinned stomach, and had a very short scarf hanging around her neck. There was also a necklace with two charms that seemed _very_ similar and kind of shaped like keys (Alexi didn’t know it at the time, but the charms were both for Twenty One Pilots -- one for Skeleton Clique, the other for Alien Clique) made in a silver metal.

Whatever shouting Alexi was about to spew at this woman was gone, more in embarrassing shock than anything. She recovered eventually, and opened her mouth to yell at her.

But the woman pushed her into a building, pinning her against the wall. Alexi was shocked, and was about to say so, but the woman slammed her lips onto Alexi’s. Her eyes went wide, while the woman’s eyes closed. It wasn’t a _romantic_ kiss, but a forceful one, the woman pushing against Alexi roughly.

Alexi saw in her peripheral (though she didn’t really realize it at the time, she was a bit _preoccupied_ ) three men in suits run past, looking around with an angry look on their face. And as _soon_ as they were gone, the woman let go. Alexi spluttered, wiping her mouth. “What the hell-?!”

The woman cuts her off. “Sorry леди, I needed a disguise,” is all she says before turning to walk out.

Almost on instinct, base reaction alone, Alexi quips out in a mocking tone, “At least take me to dinner first!” she snaps, glaring after the ( _really_ pretty) woman. She pauses, looking back over her shoulder at Alexi.

And then, she takes out a piece of paper from her pocket, what looked like an unused and crumpled sticky note, and a pen. She writes on the surface quickly, and hands it over to Alexi. She fumbles as she takes it, confused. “Wha-” the woman is gone when she looks up from the sticky note.

That sticky note contained ten numbers and eight letters. And it got her a girlfriend.

Their first date was a week later, after Alexi had taped that sticky note to her monitor, and stared at it for the entirety of that week. She had picked up the phone multiple times throughout that week, very, _very_ often, until finally, on Thursday after a tiring shift at work with annoying customers, she pulled out her phone and hit _CALL_ on the contact she had keyed in a six days prior.

Veronika. A beautiful name for the beautiful person who had run into her and nearly ruined her favorite hoodie. And then there she was, preparing for a date with her.

And she had no clue what she was doing. Makeup was not her forte, and most of her clothing consisted of what’s _comfortable_ and virtually nothing _fashionable_. So she found an old pair of jeans that had a moth hole in the shin, some dusty converses that she’s not worn in ages, and a snowy camo tank top with a charmless chain around her neck.

She knew it wasn’t the best outfit, but she still thought it was _decent_ for what she had on her. Alexi waited for a while by her door, phone clutched in her hand, just _waiting_.

And _finally_ , the doorbell rang. Well, buzzed. Her doorbell was an electric sounding buzz, pretty annoying. Alexi remembers she had jumped at the sound, nearly dropping her phone. This was when her apartment was pretty bland, a laptop sitting on the heavy wooden desk she owns.

She pulled open the door, and there she was. Veronika.

The date went horribly.

But it ended wonderfully. Alexi remembers Veronika leaning in at the end of the night, and she was nervously expecting another kiss. But rather than kiss her, Veronika brushed her lips across Alexi’s cheek, in a very light butterfly kiss. And _that_ made Alexi blush and stutter moreso than the forceful kiss that let them meet.

\- - - - - - - -

She’s pulled out of her reminiscent thoughts when she hears keys rattling in her front door, and then the woman of her thoughts walks in. She had three bags around one wrist, a bundle of lanyard with a key on the end in her other hand. She pulls the door closed as she walks inside, shooting a smile at Alexi that sends flutters in her stomach rising once again.

“Welcome home,” Alexi says, forcing herself to calm down her voice so she doesn’t squeak like a mouse on helium. “How was work? You got home late tonight,” Alexi notes, glancing at the clock on her computer. It read 12:42 in the morning.

Veronika hums, going to the kitchenette and dumping the groceries on the single counter space, beginning to unpack and put them away. “It was _okay,_ I suppose,” she replies, putting a new gallon of milk into the fridge. “It most definitely was not fun, though. My legs have not stopped being sore in weeks,” she gripes, sighing. She looks over at Alexi. “Have you _already_ changed?” she asks in annoyance.

Alexi sinks down in her chair, still smelling the chemicals of the wipes she used to scrape off the makeup her girlfriend had plastered onto her face. And she remembers the way she tossed the clothes Veronika had dressed her in, haphazardly thrown to the laundry hamper, half hanging out. “Well, yeah. These clothes are much more comfortable,” she mumbles, fingering the edge of the faded cyan sleeve on her favorite hoodie.

Strawberry hair is flicked over one shoulder in disdain. “How dare you,” Veronika says huffily, looking down her nose at Alexi. Said woman stares back, an awkward smile on her face. “Oh, who can say no to that face?” Veronika says finally breaking into a smile. “Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no,” Alexi says sheepishly, scratching at her short, violet-blue hair. “Sorry?”

“Alexi,” Veronika groans, slapping her hand over her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose in mock-anger. “For shame. Now I will be forced to cook for you,” she says, and smiles at Alexi, before turning back to the groceries, preparing ingredients for some sort of meal she was going to wing.

Alexi smiles at Veronika, though she can’t see it. She had promised herself that she was going to fix her sleeping schedule, but never had, because she always had stuff to do. And now, she never would, more likely than not. Seeing Veronika like this, happily working away to please her girlfriend, humming a strange, lilting tune while flitting around the kitchen...Alexi wanted to commit these moments to memory.

“God, I love you,” she whispers, not even realizing she said it aloud.

Veronika smiles at the four words whispered, without Alexi able to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my friend, Sly. She's a good person. I hope I did this justice. 
> 
> She wanted me to write this prompt, so I did: 
> 
> http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/152420979557/your-girlfriend-is-a-member-of-a-shadowy


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